


Replaced

by Kalla_Moonshado



Series: Conspiracy of Ravens [4]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Blood, Crying, Dammit Khadgar, Dreams, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Rollercoaster, Fuck Or Die, I Admit It, M/M, Magic, Memories, Minor Injuries, Not Really Character Death, Okay yes fine, You borked it now fix it, but not really, he dies anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-25 00:48:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10753248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalla_Moonshado/pseuds/Kalla_Moonshado
Summary: Follow up to Misplaced.Khadgar awakens and is determined to repair whatever it was that misplaced him.





	1. Reminder

**Author's Note:**

> Apparently the Muse was not satisfied. -_-;  
> Shit broke, and now I apparently have to fix it. So. Fixing it.  
> Follow up to Misplaced.  
> RavenTrust, angst, flashbacks. – Reference: The Last Guardian by Jeff Grubb, part of the Warcraft book series.

Despite the ruin of the tower library, some rays of sunlight managed to sift through the debris once dawn came.  The shafts of sunlight slid across the debris strewn across the library, and finally found a table where, oddly enough, a man apparently in his sixties lay curled on left side, arms wrapped around the Greatstaff Atiesh, diagonally across the table to avoid the dimly glowing blue crystal by his feet.  They slowly crept along his boots, upwards along his legs, and glimmered off buckles and buttons, sending reflections into the ceiling.

It reached his torso, and he shifted restlessly, one foot sliding off the table slightly as he turned onto his back.  One hand continued to clutch the staff, the other draped over his chest.  He vaguely felt its warmth as it crept up his face, turning his unshaven stubble silver.

When it reached his eyes, the blue orbs snapped open, and he gasped, the noise echoing off the walls and bookshelves.  He jumped, groaned, tried to look around…

And turned over.

Off the table.

The sound of shattering glass made him wince, and the overturned chair he caught with his foot as he fell lay accusingly tangled in his legs, his books, notes, quill and now smashed ink bottle beside him.  The ink began to run, and he edged away from it quickly, dropping Atiesh in the process.

Khadgar sighed, wincing.  He had spent better nights. In places he knew. In places that weren’t a table in the middle of the large library of Karazhan.  He’d woken up in far better places than on the floor of same library.

He managed to untangle his legs, snatch the books away from the spreading stain of the ink puddle, and rescued his notes from a similar fate.

Well, he’d started worse days in his life – some of them in this very library.  He got to his feet, and stretched, wincing as his back made several disturbingly loud cracks in the silence.  He rubbed at his eyes and reached down to find his satchel, hastily putting his notes into it so they wouldn’t be lost, if wind decided to sweep through as easily as the sun had. He slung the satchel across his shoulder out of habit, more than anything else.  It wasn’t like he wasn’t going to be here a while yet.

He looked around, bent down to retrieve Atiesh and set it down on the table.  _I’ve done stupider things in my lifetime, but one would think I’m old enough to not now. Ugh._   He longed for a bath, but had a feeling that Karazhan’s facilities would be sketchy at best.  Well, it wasn’t the first time he went without a bath in the morning.  Finding the facilities, however, was his first mission.

Praying his memory would match the twisted turns of the tower, he set off out of the library and down a set of stairs.  His old corner of a room was down this set, a second, down a hall, and if memory served, further down the hall he would find out what survived, if anything.

The door to his room was still closed, and he paused for a moment, staring at it.  He started to reach for the latch, then shook his head. _It can wait_ , he thought, his bladder forcibly reminding him of why he had come up this hall in the first place. _Some may not think I’m human, but… well._   He continued down the hall, and found that his fears were unfounded.  Somehow, the privy and bathing areas were actually intact, and in good condition.  _Thank the Light for small favors_ , he thought as he headed for the privy.

Feeling much better, he crossed the hall to the bathing room, and pondered just how badly he wanted that bath.  He looked down at his hands, and sighed.  If it was possible… at all possible… He eyed the pitcher and washbasin for a moment, and avoided the mirror.  He stepped around a partition and found that the tub was still intact as well.

He made an inspection of the room.  A few cobwebs were easily swept away, and a bit of magic applied in precise application scoured the tub with ease.  He searched the ceiling, the corners, the linen cabinets and every nook and cranny for signs of … visitors. Nesters. Anything that would have him streaking the corridor in panic.  Not that he would of course, but. Well.

He leaned Atiesh against the wall and decided against trying to draw a bath.  Attempting to do so could do any number of things.  He was a mage after all, and plumbing was just … so primitive.  A moment of concentration, and a tubful of steaming water beckoned. Magic was good for a sketchy wash, but nothing could beat a hot soak. He sighed as he stripped, and dug in his faithful satchel for a change of clothing, bathing supplies and a towel.  Draping the clothing and towel over a chair, and letting what he stripped off remain in a puddle by the chair, he stepped into the water, hissed, and sank into its embrace.

He _ached_ , and in ways he couldn’t explain.  He closed his eyes as his skin adjusted to the temperature, then looked down. And gasped.

His body was marked with small purple bruise-like marks.  His skin flushed red, and it had nothing to do with the heat of the water.  Had he been dreaming, or had it been real?  He shifted experimentally, then twisted to look at his hip.  There were bruises there, marks of familiar fingers.

It was real.  He could not have dreamed bruises and kiss-bruises into existence.

No wonder he had been so calm on waking.

Pushing the thoughts away, he leaned back and let the hot water warm and relax him for a little, then washed, rinsed, and stepped out.  Not trusting the drainage, he waved a hand over the tub (ignoring the fact that he was dripping water on his outer robes) and instead sent it down into the river before toweling off.

Clean clothing felt lovely on his skin, and now he knew why – and why he had longed so for the bath.  He pulled his surcoat on over the shirt and tunic, letting most of the laces remain loose. It’s not like there was anyone in the tower to see him.  He pulled on fresh pants and slid his feet into half-boots that were a bit more comfortable than the calf-high ones he had come in wearing.  He tucked his other clothing into his satchel, knowing it would be clean the next time he actually reached for it, and the leathers treated. He ran his hands through his hair, drew a deep breath, and exhaled, slowly as he resettled his satchel once again at his side.

It was time to go investigate his room; his curiosity was eating him alive.

 

He pulled the door open, and his heart ached.  The room was exactly how he had left it last – the bedclothes still slightly rumpled and pushed back from the last time he had risen, his narrow desk still had notes, ink bottles in different colors, a couple of pens, a small pouch, and an open book with a scrap of ribbon marking the page.  The shelf held a few belongings he had forgotten about: a crystal globe that glowed a dull yellow, a leather map case, and a toy from his childhood – a wool stuffed gryphon.  Its button eyes stared at him as he stepped into the room, looking around it. It felt so much smaller than when he had left it.  He had left the closet open, and found his clothing hung neatly, his empty rucksack that he had arrived with tucked into the bottom.

Afraid to breathe, he leaned over the desk to look at his notes.  His handwriting was as neat as it was now: Not.  His scrawling hand had been quick as he wrote, but a second page held notes a professional scribe would have been proud of.  He looked down at his hands, and smiled slightly.  Some things, at least, had not changed.  The ink stains on his fingers were a part of any mage worth his mana, after all.  The notes held calculations for a spell he had created while he was here.  He knew that if he searched hard enough, he would find the rest of it in the library – and would probably find the residue or even the crushed gemstones themselves where he had cast the spell to distract Medivh to buy time for himself and Garona to escape.

He closed his eyes, briefly as a breeze came through the open window.  He shook his head, then stepped backwards, closing the door.  He couldn’t bear to disturb his own past.  Let his seventeen-year-old imprint work in peace for all time.  Perhaps… just perhaps… one day he would keep Medivh company here again.

He started back down the hall towards the staircase that led back up to the library.  He could hear the whispers still, and ignored them.  His half-boots had soft soles, and didn’t make much noise as he moved, so the only sound was the soft _click_ of Atiesh as he set it down with every other step, and when he reached the library again, the sunlight had faded.  It was never that bright here anyway – sunlight ruins books, after all.  He looked up the stairs at the end of a row of shelves, staring at the little sitting room where…

He blushed.  It was no dream; he had physical proof of that. But something had happened.  Something had thrown him into a time-loop of sorts, that put him back into the library, fully clothed, and before Medivh had shown himself.  He had avoided the room last night, terrified it would continue if he went up those stairs, but he had to know.

And he had to repair whatever damage had been done.

He steeled himself and started up the stairs, and paused before the doorway into the sitting room.

“Don’t.”

He whirled around to face the voice, one hand out and already glowing.  The spell died in his hand as he lowered it.

“Medivh.”

“Don’t go in there again.  I don’t know if I can save you another time.”

Khadgar reached down and his hand curled around the railing.  “What do you mean “save me another time”?” he asked, eyes wide.

“You keep going in, and I … I keep putting you back somewhere safe.” Medivh sighed.  He had a hollow quality to him, and he looked away.

Khadgar steadied himself between the railing and Atiesh for a moment, then reached out to touch the former Guardian. He snatched his hand back when he realized he couldn’t. “What happened here?” he asked softly.  “What did we _do_?”

“It is not what we did, but what we didn’t do.” Medivh sighed again and turned to face the library.  “You worked on a spell here, trying to induce visions to come to you.  I saw the calculations – you left them here.”  He glanced over at Khadgar, one eyebrow raised.  Khadgar nodded.  “While this saved me, you could have done serious damage, and I’m sure you know this.  So. Tell me, Young Trust: What happens when a spell goes wrong?”

Khadgar winced.  “If it just fails, it was incomplete, or unfinished.  If it… is catastrophic, it was nearly correct, but something was lacking, wrong, or missing.”

Medivh smiled slightly, and gestured to the small room.  “We were wrong, lacking, or missing something.  I have tried to find out what it is, but I cannot.  And until … until I can…”

“You remain a shade of yourself, a spirit bound here without form,” Khadgar finished.  “I was half responsible for this mess, so I am at least half responsible for correcting it.”

Medivh shook his head. “The Legion is out there.  You’re needed there.”

“I’m needed here, as well.”

“You would choose a long-dead master over the sake of your world?” Medivh looked at Khadgar sharply, his head tilted slightly.

Khadgar looked away first. “I would choose love, to carry me through what must be done,” he murmured.  “I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t lose you again.  Not now that… that I know we…”

“Have a chance?” Medivh ran a hand through his hair and sighed, yet again.  “Within these walls, we could indeed have sanctuary, and Light knows you deserve it.”  He looked up and stared at the windows across from where they stood.  “You have surpassed me,” he mused softly.  “You had no tutor passed me, and you still achieved the rank of Archmage – with ease, so I am given to understand.”  His eyes flickered to Khadgar and back at the windows.  “Perhaps…”  He frowned for a moment, then turned back to the younger mage.  “Leave Atiesh.  Thus far, you have always walked into the room with it, and each time… I…”

“I won’t ask for details right now,” Khadgar replied, leaning the staff against the wall. “But I will take your advice.”  Before Medivh could say another word, he stepped into the room.

The room itself was a disaster. Violet motes danced along every surface, and as he stepped in, they surrounded him, as though tasting him.  They pricked his skin, and he shuddered, squinting against them and trusting his eyelashes to protect his eyes.  He managed to pick out a form moving toward the armchair where Atiesh had leaned, and the form bent over.  He heard voices – one low, wondering, the other sharp, and the motes shifted, curling around another form. The voices were frantically discussing something, and there was a thin scream.  He followed the path of the first form, and leaned down.

Sure enough, still pulsing bluely, was Atiesh.  He watched it for a moment, and realized it was not beating with _his_ heartbeat, the way it had before. It was slow, stuttering, and dimming with each beat.  He backed out of the room, quickly, to find himself back where he had come from with no adverse effect.

“You managed to get out!” Medivh cried, taking a step forward before realizing he couldn’t touch his former apprentice.

“We’re not really here, I think,” Khadgar said slowly.  “At least, one of us isn’t, and I’m not sure it’s you.”

Medivh blinked, staring at him. “What do you mean?”

“Atiesh is still in there. Still pulsing, but the light is dying, and the … the pulse is faltering.”  Khadgar shifted uncomfortably. “Am … am I dying?”

Medivh moved past Khadgar and looked into the room.  “If… that is the case…”  He stepped into the room.

Khadgar remained where he was, and waited, holding his breath until Medivh returned.  “I think you may be right.  We need to find the missing puzzle piece. And quickly.”

Khadgar snorted, softly, and looked out over the library. “Nothing too difficult.  Just like old times,” he murmured.  “How do we find a missing spell component when we don’t know what spell we even were casting?”

“I don’t know,” Medivh admitted, and he sounded pained.  “But we’d best get started.  I’m afraid you’ll have to lift books and turn pages.  I’m not entirely certain I can interact with … much… of the library.  I’ll start above – where … wait a moment, didn’t you ah… borrow… a few of those?”

Khadgar blushed, feeling his ears grow warm.  “I…”

“You had to learn from somewhere.”  Medivh graced his former apprentice with a warm smile.  “Ah, Young Trust, you were too smart for anyone’s good.  And I think you still are.  _We_ will start up above.  I do think you can touch anything there without fear now.”

 

Khadgar fought the urge to throw his spare ink bottle at the wall.  None of the calculations he had spent the last four hours on were coming up the same.  No matter how many times he started with the same equations, each time they changed into something else as he worked.  Finally in frustration, he stood up and started pacing.

Medivh found he could interact with objects and was busy looking through the index of a tome nearly as thick as Khadgar’s thigh.  “Pacing won’t help,” he murmured, absently.

“Neither will flinging fireballs or throwing my only spare ink bottle, which was almost what I did,” Khadgar replied, his words almost a snarl.  He had draped his surcoat over a chair, and his satchel lay on the table beside his sheaf of notes and calculations.  Twilight turned the library dark, and the only lights were those he had created, and they were beginning to fade.  They were running out of time.

“I would calm you if I could,” Medivh said sadly, looking up from his book, one finger marking his spot on the page.  “But… I cannot.”

Khadgar ran his hand through his hair again, calming the spikes he had raised when he pulled at it as he frantically worked calculations.  It did nothing to calm his nerves or his frustration.

“We can’t reverse the spell.  We can’t … wait – _wait_!” Khadgar stopped pacing and turned back to the table where he had been working.  “Can we go back and watch it if I can call a vision of it?”

Medivh looked up again, and his eyes widened, then softened.  “Perhaps, if we could call that specific time or place in another – Khadgar where are you going?”

Khadgar had seized his satchel from the table and was slinging it over his shoulder as his other hand reached for Atiesh.  “Spell components!” he cried as he headed for the library door.  “Meet me in the lower dining room!”

“What? Why?”

“To tame an hourglass!”


	2. Reminisce

Medivh was already there when Khadgar reached the abandoned dining room where he had been used to casting his spell to call visions in his youth, a broom in the hand not carrying Atiesh.  A circle had already been drawn, and Medivh was staring at it as Khadar stepped through the doors.

“I understand now,” the older mage murmured.  “This… this was how…”

Khadgar stared at the circle, still glittering through the dust.  “I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry,” he said softly.  “I had to do something… to…”

“No – no you did the right thing.  You were just more resourceful than that demon gave you credit for, and you managed to get through to _me_ and gave me … gave me time.” Medivh closed his eyes, and looked suddenly much older.

Khadgar set Atiesh against the wall beside the door and began to sweep the glittering dust away.  “You were nearly through my wards. I… I had to.  I didn’t mean to hurt you.  I never wanted…”  He stopped talking, and ruthlessly applied broom to floor, revealing the white marble again.

“Those wards were the only thing keeping me from killing you, at the time.  And… I remember how hard it was to fight you.” Medivh smiled as Khadgar worked.  “I was… I was so proud of you.  Only able to cast twice or thrice when you came to me, and you fought a demon with the power of the Guardian of Tirisfal at his beck and call.”

“Desperation does a lot of things to you,” Khadgar remarked, moving to a new section.  “That was something I learned once I had left here, and found myself facing desperate situation after desperate situation.  Improvisation has become my specialty.”

“Ah, but to what end?” the older mage asked sadly.  “I… found a few visions of my own, saving you time and time again from that time-loop.  You fling yourself into the fray with so little thought for yourself.”

Khadgar didn’t answer, and the steady sound of the broom paused for a moment before resuming.  It was the only sound for several long moments.  “There are things,” he said quietly, almost musingly, “that are far more important than my life. If it takes my life to solve it, then so be it.”  He shut his mouth with an audible snap, and continued sweeping the last of the rose quartz dust away.

If Medivh could have he would have grabbed the younger mage and shaken him.  He wanted to say many things, but until he could touch the other mage again, he could not.  Instead, he looked up, watching the prematurely aged Archmage sweep the remains of a spell from his youth, and seemed to age with every stroke of the broom.

“I think I have enough space clear now,” Khadgar said, moving the last of the dust and crushed gemstone into a pile well away from the middle of the room.  He set the broom beside Atiesh and dug in his satchel, coming out with vials of crushed gemstones.  These in one hand, he scooped up Atiesh in the other.  He set Atiesh in the center of his intended circle, where it hovered obediently, waiting.  He drew the amethyst circle first, then began the rose quartz runes.  Medivh stood near the door, watching interestedly, saying nothing.

Khadgar inspected every inch of his work, his heart pounding in his chest.  He had not called power this deep in some time – oh he had called something deep when he created the rings for his chosen champions on Draenor, but that had been more of impulse than calculation – not that he would dare admit it.  He wasn’t sure some of them were over the fact that they had hit the ground quite dead – or fully recovered from the burns of goblin jumper cables.

He adjusted the line of amethyst in one spot, nudged the rose quartz in another.  “I hope I remember how to do this,” he admitted quietly to his former master. “And I hope I can still do it, considering… the last time…” He looked up at Medivh.  “Step into the center with me,” he said quietly.

Medivh tilted his head slightly and did so.  Khadgar’s eyes were that odd luminescent azure again, and there was a calm about him that sank into the very fabric of the world around them.  Medivh knew that calm, that focus, and he almost stopped the entire thing then and there.

Atiesh was a calm presence at his back as Khadgar’s hands moved, and he began casting.  Once again, he felt transported back thirty years to his seventeen-year-old self, and the words came easily, and the familiar warmth pooled in his mind.  He held the spell in his mind and hands, and tried to find the proper words to call what they needed.

“Bring me a vision,” he beckoned, his voice firm and calm despite the fact that were he not in the depths of a spell he would be trembling at daring to speak the words aloud. “Show me the spell Medivh and I cast together as we completed our lovemaking.”  He waited for a single heartbeat, and the power responded.

The sitting room began to form around them, and he reached back, curling his fingers around Atiesh for support, unable to touch his lover.  He would have to direct the focus so they could determine what went wrong.

The vision began as they still bantered, before Medivh put Khadgar on his back and drew runes on his skin.

Khadgar shifted uncomfortably, watching as though through a mirror, and unable to look at Medivh standing next to him.  He was trembling and nearly fell to his knees at his own outbursts, and he tried to ignore the swift intake of breath beside him when he heard in his own voice:

_“Hurt me then! I’m not seventeen anymore, Med. I’m not going to break if you hurt me.”_

His other hand moved to grip Atiesh to keep him on his feet. Focus. He had to focus.

He was nearly in agony when he realized the moment was approaching, and he directed the vision just enough to amplify the incantation and commit it to memory.  He shifted and concentrated on the words spoken in tandem and not the intensity of their entwined bodies.

The vision exploded in violet light, and the last thing the vision offered was the clattering of Atiesh hitting the floor as they were surrounded by inky blackness.

The dining room faded into view from blackness.  Khadgar slid to his knees, still clutching the staff.  One of them had not completed the incantation.

And now he knew which of them was real, and which was not.  His eyes closed, and he felt the heat of tears tracing down one cheek, but could not speak for several long moments.

“I’m… I’m… dead.” Khadgar’s voice was flat, emotionless as he realized what he had done.

“Not yet, Young Trust.  There is still time to correct it, now that we know what went wrong.”  A hand landed on Khadgar’s shoulder – and it was warm and felt real. “We don’t have much, but there is time, before my strength and yours gives out for good.” Medivh smiled as Khadgar looked up. “And I certainly hope that seeing the start of that vision has infected you as it has me.  We don’t have much time for a warmup, I’m afraid.  We need to get back upstairs.”


	3. Repeat

Crossing into the room with Atiesh may have been a mistake, but they both needed the amplification – and Khadgar needed the focus.  It leaned against the bookcase behind his head, the ribbons that wound around beadwork and talons swaying in a breeze from one of the shattered windows.  His satchel lay on the table beside the two mugs and the half-full crystalline vial.  They had shed clothing without ceremony as they moved to the chaise once more, ignoring that its cushions were apparently blasted.  The rough edges of the fabric and woolen stuffing scratched Khadgar’s back, but he stopped caring the moment Medivh kissed him.

There was little finesse this time.  Nails scraped across skin as their lips met and parted to meet again, clinging to each other, driven by the desperate situation they found themselves in.  The blue light that still pulsed from the staff in the corner of the room was very faint, and fluttered as Khadgar clung to his former master – and his life, even as Medivh clutched his former apprentice against him as if by doing so he could draw the younger mage into himself and give him his own life force.

They found themselves once again racing an hourglass as Medivh’s hand slid between them, working frantically against the Archmage’s cock, even as he rocked against the younger mage’s body, trying to bring himself close enough to the edge that it would not take much before he lost himself within the velvet heat he would soon claim.  Khadgar’s hand nearly knocked the vial over as he reached for it.  He pulled the stopper from the vial with his teeth and let it fall with a soft _clink_ to the floor, unwilling to let his other hand move from Medivh’s shoulder, where his nails dug in hard enough to draw blood, at least until he reversed it and pushed against Medivh’s shoulder to separate them as they both gasped for breath.  He dripped several drops onto his own shaft as Medivh worked, and the infusion sank into his skin quickly, and he arched into the older mage’s grasp as he pressed the vial into the Magus’ free hand.

“Don’t … don’t bother stretching me – just get enough lubrication to get in,” Khadgar hissed against Medivh’s neck, turning his head to bite the other mage’s ear.

“I don’t want it to hurt—“ Medivh protested.

“I _do_ ,” Khadgar hissed back.  “I have to stay focused this time.  No matter what happens I have to stay focused! Let the pain ground me.”

Medivh bit back a protest, made a noise that sounded almost like a pained whine, and applied the infused oil to himself, then tipped the last of it to run along the younger mage’s balls, over his perineum, and along his cleft, ran a finger along it to spread it, and then shifted himself enough to align himself.

Khadgar gasped as Medivh took him, arching at once as the stab of pain sent sparks along his nerves and his vision, and he bit down on both of his lips, drawing blood, to ground himself.  The older mage dropped the vial back onto the table, ignoring that it tipped over, rolled and shattered against the floor.  He wrapped both of his arms around his former apprentice and pulled him close once again.  An experimental rock of his hips, a second one, a shift in weight, and then another roll of his hips.

The Archmage keened sharply, and the Magus knew he had found the right angle, and began to move with increasing sharpness before sliding his hand between them again. It didn’t take long before he realized Khadgar was trembling against him.  His eyes shifted to the staff in the corner, and the glow was nearly gone, a feeble flickering now.  He increased his pace, both hand and hips, and let the words tumbling from Khadgar’s bloodied lips wash over him.  Admissions of love, of lust, of fear, and then the tone that told him that he was nearly at his peak.

Medivh closed his eyes and whispered encouragements, his own body warming and the spiral beginning as the heat in the core of him spread along his nerves and set them aflame.  He pulled back enough to meet his former apprentice’s eyes, and found them glowing. He leaned forward and kissed Khadgar again, tasting the coppery salt of blood mingled with tears. He drew back, and as one, they began to incant again.  Even as Medivh prayed they had not begun too early, violet motes began to appear around them, and they ignored it, letting the magic fuel their lust and let it spiral them upward as the spiral downward into the abyss drew closer.

Khadgar faltered as he held himself at the razor’s edge, but hissed out the last of the incantation as Medivh’s voice rose in pitch; a warning.  It was completed.

And the abyss rose to swallow them as Khadgar’s control broke first, and he couldn’t stop the flood between them, sobbing Medivh’s name to the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole, his voice radiating a range of emotions that stabbed Medivh as surely as a dagger – or a sword through his heart.  The glow from Atiesh by the armchair fluttered once more, feebly, and went dark.  Medivh nearly screamed as he felt Khadgar go limp as he followed in his wake, helpless to stop it, even though he knew if he tried, the spell would fail.

The world went violet and blue, and he collapsed against the younger mage, his body spent.

Medivh closed his eyes, ignoring the tears that spilled from them.

They were too late.


	4. Replace

Without opening his eyes, Medivh withdrew, and shifted his body so he could pull Khadgar’s limp form against him.  Fingers explored the contours of the Archmage’s face, committing them to memory.  They ran through the softness of his short hair, and along the curve of the elegant neck, across his collarbone, and down to his chest, where he felt scars etched in the skin.  He lay his head against Khadgar’s shoulder, his hand sliding around the younger mage’s side.

The chuckle that this elicited was warm.  “Stop that,” Khadgar murmured.

Medivh’s head lifted, and he looked askance at the other mage, his eyes snapping open and his fingers tracing the pattern again.  Khadgar _giggled_. “That tickles, stoppit!”

Warmth flooded him as he shook his head and continued tickling the younger mage, giddy with relief.

The laughter intensified. “No – Really, Med. Stop that!” Khadgar’s eyes opened, and his eyes were filled with warmth – and mirth.

The hand that had been tickling Khadgar’s side slid around him, and the younger mage found himself crushed against the Magus, and as he lifted his arms to return the embrace, felt the same kind of heart-wrenching sobs tearing themselves from the older mage’s throat, but they were clearly of relief.

The room around them was flooded with warm light from the lamps, completely restored, and Atiesh lay in the corner, pulsing blue with a stronger light than before.  Khadgar looked at the staff, then looked down at Medivh, curiously.

“Med… what is this? Why are you…?”

The older mage shook his head, hiccupped, and Khadgar found his hand fumbling for the satchel on the table, withdrawing a handkerchief and pressing it gently against Medivh’s cheeks, rather shocked at this… very un-Medivh-like display.  The older mage leaned back, lowering Khadgar back down, and took the scrap of cloth and pressed it to his eyes.  “I thought I’d lost you.  I thought you were…”

“It was a near thing,” Khadgar sighed softly.  “I saw the Light… and it Called.”  His voice was soft, almost entranced.  “But I … I didn’t want to go. I’m not ready, and I told it, somehow. It asked me why – and … I told it I couldn’t leave my tasks unfinished.  I told it that I couldn’t leave you.  It washed over me, and… and then I felt your hand against my face.  I… I couldn’t breathe – and then you _tickled_ me.”

Medivh chuckled, then began to laugh; a release of the fear he had felt, and Khadgar joined him, letting the tears spill from his own eyes as he pulled Medivh against him again.  Their laughed died out after a few moments, and they lay there, quietly, their hands moving along each other’s skin, exploring as they had when they began, letting the touches soothe them.  This was real. They were real. They were alive.

The comfortable silence stretched between them, and Khadgar, at least, was taken back to a time where this was commonplace, a time where he bore no scars, and a time where his curiosity didn’t get him into quite as much trouble as it did now.  Or rather, his curiosity was a little less deadly.

“You are still bound to the tower, I assume,” Khadgar broke the silence quietly.

“Mm,” Medivh replied, nodding.  “I’m afraid so.”

“I will just have to return more often… to find references and to study, or to retrieve a book I may have forgotten existed until I need it.”

“You intend to go on with this?” Medivh sounded surprised.

“I told you. I don’t want anyone else.”

“Then you’ll stop trying to commit suicide out there?” Medivh shifted to lock eyes with Khadgar, who looked away at once. “Look at me, Khadgar.”

“I—“

“I see.  Even now, you think of yourself as… lesser.”  A sigh. “Stop taking so much on. Delegate more – or you’ll run into the same dangers that have plagued every Guardian since Alodi.”

A sharp gasp met these words, and the voice that answered was as flat and emotionless as Khadgar had been when he realized, or rather thought, he had died. “I do not want—“

“That kind of power or responsibility, but you have already taken on the responsibility, and I told you before, you already have the power, the heart and the courage. You have surpassed me. Stop thinking so little of yourself just because others were too stupid to dismiss you.”  Medivh poked Khadgar’s side.

Khadgar caught Medivh’s hand before he could be poked a second time, and brought the hand to his bloodied lips, simply pressing it there.  “If only it was that easy,” he whispered.  He closed his eyes, and an enveloping darkness drew him in, weariness claiming him as surely as it had many other times after … strenuous exercise.

 

_“Perhaps, it’s time we sent a representative to the Guardian again, to see if he’ll take one of the students.”_

_“One of the students.” A snort. “You mean Khadgar. He’s too resourceful, too curious for his own good, and he knows far too much.”_

_“Yes, well. He may not make the journey. Either way, he’s out of our hair and not finding things out that no one should know.”_

_A short, mirthless laugh. “The Guardian could take care of him for us, if it comes to it. How many have disappeared without a trace?”_

_“That’s a touch cruel don’t you think? He’s a human being, not an animal for slaughter.”_

_“And you don’t find his intimate knowledge of our comings and goings disturbing?”_

_Another snort. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he was listening to us right now.”_

_“Let him.  If he’s going to spy on the Guardian for us, die on the way there, or be killed by whatever the Guardian does to him, so be it. Let him know the truth.”_

_“That’s horrible. He’s only a boy.”_

_“A boy who, for the last ten years, has ransacked the library, blown up two laboratories and managed to scour the tiles out of one of the bathing rooms.”_

_“Is it a crime for a student to be curious now?”_

_“No, but I’m not so sure about the vows he swore, either. I’m not sure we can hold his silence much longer.  He’s going to say something to the wrong person and everything we are may be in danger.”_

_“Send a courier then.  Tell the Guardian we have an exceptional student that he may wish to consider.  The Light knows we can’t have him here anymore.  Dalaran would be in danger, let alone the Citadel.  Hellfires, he’s probably a danger to himself and anyone who comes into contact with him.  With any luck, we’ll never see him again.”_

_It was after midnight, and the Violet Citadel slept – at least most of it. Khadgar paced his room, his body shaking with violently suppressed fear and rage.  He finally threw his hands in the air, and quickly suppressed the surge of Arcane that accompanied the gesture.  He scanned the shelves in his dormitory room and finally seized a book from the shelf, and tossed it to his bed.  He stripped, laying his clothing over the chair next to his desk and crawled into bed, opening the book to where it was marked by a blue ribbon, and let his eyes take in the archaic script there.  He was being sent away in two days’ time. To the Guardian. To Medivh. In Karazhan._

_Because he was a liability._

_His hands itched as he longed to do_ something _to ease the conflict of emotions warring in his head, his chest and the rest of him.  The book snapped closed, and he stood up, pacing again, this time uncaring that his window was open and he was stark naked.  Energy sparked around him as he tried to gain control of himself.  He would_ not _set his room on fire. Again.  He would not cause another explosion like the mishap in the bathing room either – though to be fair, one of the other students had startled him while he was trying to soak out muscle aches from tension after a grueling test.  He reacted as though he were still_ being _tested, with force enough to throw back arcane constructs.  The fact that the force of it stripped the tiles out of their grout and the tub was now three feet from where it started and through a wall was just happenstance._

_His chest felt tight, and he closed his eyes, trying hard to call into mind breathing exercises that would calm him._

_They didn’t care if he died._

_It’s not like they didn’t pull him from the orphanage after he was offered like a sacrificial lamb to the city.  He would have a better life here, they told him.  A life that looks like they were trying to end it before it began._

_He dropped back down onto his bed, and lay back against his pillows.  Emotion bubbled up within him, and his body found release in the only way he would let it.  The heat against his temples ran into his hair, and he bit his lip to remain silent._

_Worth nothing to his family._

_Worth nothing to his teachers or peers._

_What would the Guardian think of him?  Probably the same.  Oh, he was sure they’d send references that he was a model student, advanced in everything they could think of, but this was the Guardian – an entity who would decide on his life from now on, an entity that could, with a thought, obliterate him on the spot and his name would be stricken from the Kirin Tor records as surely as Arrexis had been._

_He turned over and buried his face in his pillow, letting the tears soak into it and shook with silent sobs. He refused to admit it to anyone else, but he was petrified with fear._

_He was being sent away to die._

Khadgar awoke suddenly, as he felt something brush his skin, and he was … warm, though he felt no blanket covering him.  He was half covered by someone else.

Medivh.  He was alive. He was older.  Shaking his head to clear the dream – memory? – away, he shifted a little to free an arm to drape over Medivh as he turned over.

Perhaps he was sent here to die, but it was here that he had begun to live.

Perhaps, just perhaps, Medivh wasn’t the only one who felt he shouldn’t throw his life away? After all of his failures – the deaths he’d watched, no, caused – ate at him from the inside, twisting his will to live into something of willing sacrifice, as though if he caused himself enough pain – or his own death – he would begin, perhaps, just begin to atone.

The realization hit him with the force of an arcane blast, and he cuddled a little closer to the older mage.

Did he know? Was he living up to his name?

Was he keeping Khadgar’s secret – just as Khadgar took on the burdens of everyone else, as his own name, trust?

Others had trusted him, and perished for that trust.  He couldn’t trust himself, how could he ask others to do so?

And yet… And yet, others did trust him. They followed him into battle without hesitation. They followed his odd whims and requests.  They went as far as to show… a tentative affection at times.

Perhaps.

Perhaps he should rethink his attitude toward death, and replace it with one of life.


End file.
